A Disgusting World
by ZarineStorm
Summary: Grog's story, including his relations to his family, and why he finds the world so disgusting. Ongoing. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

For years, Grog had found so much disgusting: his neighbors, his parents, nearly everyone he met, and himself too, though the last wasn't entirely his fault.

For years, he sulked around in his hometown, depressed that other children, and adults, seemed to have avoided him because of how he looked. It wasn't just the style he favored, comprised of large leather shoes, black and clunky, his green-brown pants, baggy and a little too short, and the cuffs and rings he usually wore. It wasn't just his facial features and the perpetual expression of frustration plastered on his face. Everyone could see how emaciated he was, especially since he was usually shirtless because he disliked wearing shirts due to long hours working with cuccos, often having feather shafts stuck in all his shirts, poking and scratching him. He had an unusual disease, one that even the best physicians could not figure out what the cause was, but no one could contract it from him. The best they could do for him was to give him painkillers, supplements, and steroids to keep the pain and the disease at bay, hoping the steroids would build back his muscle.

Grog was dying.

He was born a fairly normal boy, or so he was told, but he somehow contracted this disease that so terribly weakened him: he often tired, his muscle mass deteriorated, and continued to grow more and more skeletal. Everyone expected Grog to die within the first year, but for some reason, he still lived. Now, everyone realized that he was becoming a monster, a stalfos, and wanted him to die soon of some other cause, hoping he wouldn't return as a skeleton, which he nearly was already. Everyone wanted him dead so they could sleep calmly, knowing a monster would attack from inside village walls any day.

The dying man snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm still here," he said to himself.

Grog remembered being curled in bed, both the pain killers and condition making him too tired to move. Leaning against the wall his bed was pushed up against, he heard his parents talking about the neighbor's complaints, and their own worries. After all, he did have a younger sister, Anju, and they didn't want anything to happen to her because they wouldn't stop a monster. His mother suggested taking him somewhere else away from Kakariko, and leaving him behind. His father outright suggested killing him, that he could easily put him down while he was sleeping with a hammer to his skull, or by dumping him down the well. Few people used the well these days due to stories of a dark being sealed below the well, and it didn't hurt to be cautious, there was a river just outside the village that had fresh flowing water and fish.

Anju had been in the room with him, bringing him a routine meal of bread, water, and medication. She wasn't disgusting – she was innocent, and they had bonded over tending to cuccos together. On Grog's bad days, Anju would tend to Cojiro, his favorite rooster, rare and blue feathered, for him. He could see her cringe as the conversation continued, as she did whenever people whispered to each other. Anju was the one who suggested that he sleep outside the house so their parents couldn't hurt him while he slept, and if he slept during the day, he could rest in a pile of straw near the coop while she tended to the cuccos. It left him wondering if his parents would kill him in daylight, when people could hear him scream and struggle before death, or if his parents would kill him out in the open so others could see that he died not of his condition, but of something that might make him stay dead.

Every night since that night when he was twelve, he'd sleep during the day by the coop, concealed by piles of straw that would replace the cucco coop liner when it got dirty. The pile was always large, and only Anju could see him buried neck deep in it, his head concealed by the shadow of the overhang. His ruby haired sister would bring him food early in the morning before the sun rose, at six in the evening when he awoke again, and four hours after that for six years.

At night, Grog knew he couldn't sleep, which is why he only slept during the day. The gaunt man knew that it wasn't safe for him to, especially since the people who he was supposed to trust and depend on were the ones most likely to harm him. He might catnap against a tree by the entrance of the village if he needed to, under the tree facing the entrance so people might not be able to pick out see his pale skin, greying, in the darkness. If someone ever did, he might be able to make it down the steps to the river and throw himself in, hoping it would carry him away from his attackers.

It pained him to not see Anju, who took care of him and did love him unlike his parents, and only see Cojiro early in the morning when he was about to go to sleep after the rooster finished waking the residents. Grog didn't regret avoiding his parents – they were disgusting for more than just talking or planning to kill him.

After Anju reached her teenage years, she seemed oddly nervous and lost, which only made sense after her sleeves hiked up, revealing dark bruises on her upper arms and shoulders. When she leaned forward some, Grog could see angry pink marks across her chest that descended lower. Words failed him, and when she realized that he saw, she winced, pulling her sleeves down and her shirt up. "I didn't want to tell you, knowing you'd worry about me. I didn't want to fight back because things would get worse if I did, and if I tried to leave, that would leave you homeless and the cuccos would likely starve due to neglect."

"You can't just put up living with this – you're fifteen! I've been walking around town at night when it's safe enough, so I'm at least strong enough to travel some distance. It would be good for me to leave and not have to wonder if I'm going to wake up the next night, or if I'm going to be found in the dark. Our parents are so disgusting; we shouldn't have to go through this!" Grog hoarsely groaned.

"What about your medicine? You're still frail, and while you may be able to walk well enough, stalchildren roam the fields outside. What would we do for money and food and your medicine? There is no way we can make it, and if we could, where would we go?"

"We can go to Castle Town. I'm nineteen now and there are plenty of places to work there. The gate shuts at night. We'd be much safer, they probably is at least one potion shop where we could find me medicine. There's always Lon Lon ranch – they're bound to have cuccos there. I've been out on Hyrule Field at night, and the stalchildren didn't attack me. They milled around as if I wasn't there, or more likely, as if I was one of them."

The last sentence made Anju sob, and Grog pulled her to him, trying to comfort her without touching any hidden bruises. "That might be just as bad if not worse. Mother has been seeing other people, and a few of these men are from castle town. They recognize me when I'm caring for the cuccos. They call out to me and some of these bruises are from them too . . . I try to act cheery still because I'm scared that if I try to do something about them, they'll do something worse."

Grog pounded his fist into the dirt beside him, and Cojiro strutted over, perching in his lap to try to calm him. He stroked the vibrant feathers while coming up with another plan.

"Lon Lon ranch won't work – they are family-run only, and they wouldn't have space for us. Their stalls are full of animals, and there are vicious birds at the range at night, so we couldn't sleep outside. Mr. Ingo and I have done business together to talk about the cuccos, and I don't like how he looks at me."

Frustrated that he couldn't think of anything else, he put his head down in resignation. "I'm sorry, Anju. Someday I'll figure something out."


	2. Chapter 2

Impa's house had been opened to the public. People often milled around inside the grand building, amazed by just being inside. Grog had other reasons for being there, not out of Admiration for the Sheikah woman, but for the resources left inside, untouched. Shelves full of books on a wide array of topics were open for him to page through and read. There had to be a cure for his ailment, or some other bit of information that would aide him and his sister, who was still carrying on with the cheerful façade she tried so hard to maintain.

Grog plunked a large, dusty tome on the desk marked with a green circle with smaller ones outlined inside it, all connected by the left side. Thankful for the milk from the cow on the first floor, Grog had managed to carry it up the stairs without stumbling or being too tired. Regardless of what the books were about, he wasn't only concerned about his own life and whatever condition ailed him anymore. Anything that might help Anju and himself leave the town and live away from Kakariko was welcome, no matter what it was.

The pages and pages of potions he read over increasingly reminded him of his grandmother, who almost had the stereotypical appearance of a witch: boney hands with long fingers, hooked nose, a cackling laugh, a pet cat, but no green skin. Granny was no longer living in Kakariko, she was elsewhere, supposedly searching for and experimenting with new ingredients, but she had mentioned something in passing of where she was going. Grog tried in vain to remember where she currently lived, as she surely would know something that could point him in the right direction.

Several interesting ingredients passed for a variety of ailments, mostly monster remains that could make one healthy. Some were the familiar potions sold from apothecaries, far too expensive for the jobless Grog. Reading over the list again, he tried to start memorizing the recipe for red potion.

Anju strode in, surprising a yawn while carrying a tray of scrambled eggs and a warm roll, as well as large bottles of steroids and pain medication. Grog couldn't help but notice that her clothes seemed oddly ruffled, and her limbs appeared a tad stiff. If she was assaulted again, she wouldn't say anything. The skeletal boy's worry was confirmed when his sister cringed as she slid into the seat next to him, almost spilling the meal onto the books.

Grog managed to steady the tray, setting it down gently with a concerned look on his face. "Who was it this time?" he asked cautiously, feeling uncomfortable with the words and his sister's situation. They dying boy knew he had to find out, so he would know who else he had to watch out for.

"I'm sorry! I know I have to be more careful with food in here because of the books –," Anju avoided the subject, tugging her long sleeves down.

"_Who was it this time?_" Grog demanded to know, his voice as firm as he could make it without sending himself into a coughing fit. He instantly regretted sounding upset, as Anju shrank back into her seat, folding her hands on her lap. Grog gave her an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, but it is better that I know who it is, who the greater threats are. My research is about you, too, and if one of them found out, things could get worse for both of us."

Anju's eyes began to water. "He's one of the construction workers. I don't know which – they all look the same to me. He usually buys eggs from us at noon."

Grog's hands tightened on the edge of the table, causing his knobby knuckles to pop out more. His gaze shifted to Anju's arms. "Pull up your sleeves. Please."

She obeyed, gently rolling the cotton up to her shoulders.

Angry pink lines crisscrossed her arms, concentrated on her biceps. Some of the marks were rather long, while most were an inch or two.

He reached for the glass bottle, and idea dawning. Grog knew that some people would buy fish and insects, for food or otherwise. Both were easy enough to find, and would fetch a fair price. He held the empty bottle up, asking, "Is it possible to get any more of these? The least I could do would be to get you something to sell so you can buy some medicine for that. If I managed to keep it up, I might be able to save up enough for us to leave. I have the time to."

Anju hesitated. "What about tiring out? I know that you can't be getting much better."

"Insects are easy enough to find, especially in the village, and I already go to the stream just outside. Not many people fish from the stream, so there should be plenty. I'd just need more bottles for this to work."

"I-I think I can manage that."

Grog shakily shoveled the scrambled eggs into his mouth, careful not to spill anything on the large tome. He ate quickly, knowing that Anju would get hurt if others found her helping him. No one else knew he still lived in Kakariko.

As soon as he finished, Anju pulled the tray over and half ran down the steps. Grog hobbled to a window to watch her return home, and was satisfied when he saw her emerge again, moving towards the coop as the sun started to rise. He managed to sit back down without falling into the rough seat, and scanned the old pages of the tome, rolling the glass bottle in his palms.

A man walked into the building and caught a glimpse of him on the upper floor. It wasn't hard picking Grog out of a crowd with his appearance. Grog recognized him as one of the men who loitered in Impa's house during the day, one who seemed to call everyone out on hanging around there regardless of the guard outside. He, like everyone else, either avoided or harassed Grog on sight, and strongly preferred the latter.

Grog jolted out of his trance, and looked to the nearest windows. He usually had an hour or two before the sun started rising and people woke up. The blue-tinged light of dawn was filtering in as the sun rose, and his time had run out.

"Hey, monster! Get out of here!" the man shouted. "Guard! Get in here!"

Grog pushed away from the table, stumbling when he tried to stand up. The Hylian Guard stationed outside the building had just rushed inside, his spear pointing towards him. The gaunt man couldn't move much now: the energy from the milk he drank already wore off. Debating on whether to attempt to jump out of the window, or to get down the stairs, his legs stiffly guided himself to the edge of the second floor, which lacked any sort of balcony.

A glimpse out the window to his left showed that it was a long way down even for a healthy person to fall, and the guard was already moving up the stairs – whether to help, arrest, or kill, Grog was unsure. He tried to backpedal, successfully moving one foot back a little. The guard was on the floor now, and was charging towards him.

Moving toward a man with a weapon was a bad idea in Grog's mind, as was jumping out the second story of a house that was even higher up due to being on a ledge that could be another floor. His other leg buckled, just as the guard swung the head of the spear at Grog, whistling over the empty space towards the skeletal man.

Whether the guard intended to help him by pushing him back onto the floor away from the opening or to harm him, Grog was not sure. Either way, the spear shifted and smacked against his thighs rather than stomach, causing him to fall over the pole weapon rather than backward. The lethargic moo of the caged cow below, the intense shouts of the man, and the raspy cry of "No!" from beneath a helmet were the last things Grog heard before everything went black.


End file.
